


the two queens

by sailorshadzter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Endgame Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, F/M, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:22:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorshadzter/pseuds/sailorshadzter
Summary: based off a prompt sent to me on tumblr.it's spanned into a mini series of oneshots, so i just decided to give them their own work.original prompt: S7 AU where Jon gives his crown to Sansa before he goes to Dragonstone so the North would remain independent if ever Jon doesn't return, dies, or is forced by Tyrion and Daenerys to surrender the North. Political Jon and Political Sansa being smart together.set in season 8, rather than season 7.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t want it-”

“Sansa please-”

“ _Not like this,_ ” she hisses, desperation clinging to her voice, her hands clutching tightly to his. “I will keep the North safe while you are away, but I will not take your crown. I will not.” She means to be honorable, he knows, but this go beyond honor. It goes beyond everything. It is about keeping her and the North safe and free.

“It’s the only way!” He explodes, sharper than he intends, but it stings her all the same. The rosy lips that were once dripping with venom fall closed, a frown falling into place instead. She looks down at her feet, silent understanding, though she longs to ignore it. His hands fall into place against her shoulders and she looks up only then, her blue eyes shining with tears in the dancing firelight. “It’s the only way to keep the North protected.” She blinks and it takes a moment, but she finally relents and gives a single nod.

Relief rushes through him and he leans in, pressing a kiss against her forehead, lingering perhaps longer than one might call seemly. He wonders what she might say if he had kissed her lips instead; she wishes he had.

“I will tell the lords tomorrow,” he says after a moment more of silence, abruptly removing himself from her grip as if he’s been burned. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but she sighs instead, watching him turn to go. At the door, he pauses. “You will be a better queen than I could ever be king.” He says and then he’s gone, the door falling closed behind him with a soft thud.

In the morning, he will leave her so he might sail for Dragonstone and she’s not certain how she can stand to part ways with him. Outside her door, Jon lingers, wanting desperately to turn back to her. To return inside and tell her the truth that lingers within his heart, no matter how wrong it might seem. But, he pushes away from her door and returns to his own rooms, knowing that the truth would do little else but drive a wedge between them. He would not ruin what they already had.

[ x x x ]

There is almost no noise within the great hall.

Though the Northern lords look upon him with shock, he knows that even they too can understand the reasoning behind his choice. Some might go as far as to say they might prefer the young woman as their queen, anyways, which Jon could not blame them for. “To protect the North… It is my only mission as King…” Jon says as he turns to address the room in its entirety. “There is no saying what Daenerys Targaryen will ask of me to secure her support and in truth, there’s nothing I can think of that I will not do. Including this.” He looks around the room and then turns to face Sansa, seated just to his left. “I revoke my place as King in the North and instead, give the crown to my sister, Sansa Stark.” With no title beyond brother to the Queen in the North, Jon will not be forced to bend the North to a foreign queen in exchange for her help. The North will remain free and independent. The North will remain safe. And so will she.

Brienne of Tarth, though no lord, is the first to hit a knee with her sword offered in fealty to her new queen. Lord Royce comes next and then one by one, the lords of the North and the heads of the greatest families, drop to their knees to swear allegiance to the young woman they will come queen.

As she rises to her feet, the hall is filled with a single chant.

_Queen in the North! Queen in the North!_

It feels hollow, it feels empty.

But it’s hers all the same.

[ x x x ]

It’s been months, the days passing in such a way that she’s lost track of them all in truth.

But he’s home, he’s home.

Standing out in the courtyard of Winterfell, she stands among her remaining siblings and a handful of others, waiting on the arrival of this Targaryen queen. When Jon comes through the gates first, it is to stoop and hug Bran, tears in his eyes as he holds close the younger brother he had thought lost to him. Though much changed since the last time he saw him, Jon sees the little brother he had always known.

When he returns to his full height, it’s to settle his gaze upon her. In the many, many weeks since his departure, he’s thought of little else than this woman standing in front of him. “Sansa- your grace,” he corrects himself, addressing her for the first time with her new title. Before another word can be spoken, he’s reaching for her, unable to wait another moment to take her into his arms. He breathes her in and he can feel her cling to him, almost unwilling to let him go. But she knows her place better than anybody else and a moment later, she’s pulling back with a small, confident sort of smile.

There is no time for more talking for they all hear the crunching of snow beneath boots and so they turn back towards the gate. Sure enough, there is a beautiful young woman coming towards them at the side of an older, tall man she recognizes to surely be a Mormont, surprising her. But the woman at his side his far more important and so Sansa swivels her gaze to the dragon queen that has approached where they stand. Beside her, his hand still on her arm, Jon turns to greet her. “Your grace,” he clears his throat, drawing his hand back suddenly, as if he’d forgotten where it had been placed. “Might I introduce my sister, the Queen in the North, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa can’t help but smile somewhat smugly down at the violet eyed woman that now stands in her presence. This woman would remember her as the queen that never bent, the red wolf of the North, for Sansa would never bow to her whims and wishes. Dragons or no dragons, Sansa has faced worse in life than this Daenerys Targaryen nd she would never bend. Not to her, not to anyone. But she softens her smile and gives this visiting “queen” a nod before speaking.

“Welcome to Winterfell.”


	2. what do dragons eat, anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no summary because i SUCK lol   
> pulled some show canon lines because thats pretty much all season 8 gave us that was any good.

The air in the room is thick with electricity.

It’s sharp, it’s uncomfortable, and they all can feel it.

Jon sits beside Sansa, who presides over the head table and the entire room; she sits with her back straight, her red hair twisted in braids that scream her Northern heritage. Her blue eyes are cut like steel, sharper than any words that might fall from her soft, rosy lips. She’s dressed in a black gown that only accentuates her Stark name and the contrast between the dark gown and her red hair is something Jon never wants to look away from. Every person in the room has eyes only for this queen, this Queen in the North who’s name is Stark. Every person in the room, with the exception of perhaps two, would gladly take a blade, an arrow, even dragon fire, just to ensure her safety. But even those who are loyal to another cannot help but to notice the way this queen carries herself, cannot help but to notice the presence she brings to every room she enters.

“My dragons must eat.” The other queen speaks. They’ve been speaking of food storage for the people living in and near Winterfell, the innocent folk that must be provided for when the true cold comes. Once again, Daenerys thinks of little else but her dragons.

Eyes shift to her, vastly different from the young woman she stands behind. Daenerys stands near the hearth, perhaps warming herself, perhaps distancing. Her silver hair is blinding to some eyes in that room, unlike anything these Northern men have seen before. Some, only in the twenty odd years it’s been since her father’s reign. That is the hair color of the distrusted, much as those violet eyes are the color of a suspicious gaze. Daenerys was distrusted before she even set a single foot in the North, but even less so now that she stands before them. Demanding to be called _your grace_ , when their own queen sat before them. It’s been less than a single day since her arrival and she’s already dared to speak of the North’s treason in naming a queen when they already had one. Jon’s surprised they made it through such a comment, but they had. Who’s to say if they make it through this one. Daenerys returns to the chair she once occupied, her shoulder brushing against Jon’s as she settles.

“I wonder… What do dragons eat, anyway?”

The voice is like venom and chills race many spines in that room at the sound of Sansa Stark’s voice. On his either side, Jon feels both women shift ever so lightly, their brilliantly colored glares falling upon the other. “Whatever they like.” The voice that replies is as equally poisonous, though the smug sort of expression that follows is cause for some to roll their eyes.

Before another word can be spoken, there is a sharp knock at the double doors and the man nearest them bends over to push one door open just enough so the man outside can whisper in his ear. He steps back, blinking, as if he’s confused, but then he stalks down the aisle towards the head table. Coming before his queen, he bows and then leans over the table, whispering quiet words into her ear alone. If the Northern queen is surprised by his words, her face does not show it. Instead, when the man steps aside, she speaks. “Ensure your people are brought to Winterfell, Lord Umber.”

Jon follows after her when the lords are dismissed, catching her by the elbow as she disappears out the back door, into a quiet hall. She turns back to face him, lips a frown, but her eyes have darkened, full of a new sort of awareness. “What is it?” He asks, knowing it must be important for her to have ended the meeting so abruptly.

“Jaime Lannister is at our gate.”


	3. what about the north?

For once, she’s alone.

Seated at the desk of her solar, Sansa reads through the several ravens that had arrived only that morning. It’s early evening, the sun already beginning it’s descent in the gray clad sky, the threat of snow and death never that far behind the falling darkness. She shivers suddenly, though the fire roars in the hearth just across the room. As if he too senses something amiss, Ghost raises his head from his paws where he lays on the floor.

A knock.

It’s a new knock, one she’s yet to hear before and Sansa calls come in despite her better judgment. Somehow, she already knows who will walk through the door a moment before the young woman appears. “Lady Stark,” Daenerys greets, daring only to snub her in the privacy of the room, the realization of such giving Sansa a smug sense of satisfaction. “I thought we might talk,” she means to sound jovial, as if they are old friends, but Sansa knows there is no real warmth behind her rosy smile.

For a moment, only a single moment, Sansa wants to send her away. It is her right, she knows, but she recalls what’s at stake and instead, she gestures for the dragon queen to sit. Daenerys sinks into the chair across from where Sansa sits, violet eyes glancing across the desk that’s littered with scrolls. “I fear we are at odds, Lady Stark.” Daenerys finally speaks, yet again meaning to be rude, to purposely call her by a title that is no longer hers. “When in truth…” She shifts in her chair, a knee tucked across the other, her soft features dimpling with the smile she offers. “We are quite alike, you and I.”

“Alike?” Sansa questions, sharper than perhaps she intends, a chuckle escaping her before she can stop it.

If Daenerys is offended, she hides it well. Instead she leans forward ever so slightly. “We both know what it is like to lead those who are not inclined to follow a woman’s rule.” Inside, Sansa laughs again. Her men have been loyal long before the day of her coronation, some have stood beside House Stark since before she was born. She knows not what it is like to lead men who do not believe in her or her crown. “I cannot imagine why… Except…” Those violet eyes close for a moment and when they open, the blue eyes that stare back are sharper than steel. “Your brother.”

“He loves _you_ ,” she says, perhaps too forcefully, perhaps too quickly. But it does the trick, as Jon said it would. The dragon queen smiles, a warm glow to her, the glow of a woman in love. For only a moment, Sansa pities her.

“That bothers you?” Now the conversation turns.

Sansa looks up from beneath her lashes, a look she had mastered before she’d been ten years old. “Men do stupid things when they’re in love,” she tilts her head, red hair a waterfall across a shoulder as she shifts. Daenerys’ nostrils flare and it reminds Sansa of an unhappy child. “They’re easily manipulated.”

“All my life I’ve known one goal… The Iron Throne.” The dragon queen speaks quietly, but fiercely. She curls her hands along the length of the chair arms, still leaning forward slightly as she stares back at the Northern queen. “And yet… Here I am.” She goes on, voice like the hiss of fire, her gaze dark and smoldering like coals. “Fighting Jon’s war when I should be taking back what is mine from the people who destroyed my family and almost destroyed yours. So tell me, Lady Sansa, who manipulated whom?”

For a single instance, Sansa isn’t certain what to say back to this woman before her. But then she smiles and leans in, recalling her days with Joffrey in King’s Landing, knowing quite well where this conversation is heading. “I should have thanked you the moment you arrived,” Sansa speaks quietly, her hands settled atop the desk that divides them. “That was a mistake.” Her tone is gentle, apologetic, and yet again it does the trick. Daenerys reaches out and slides a hand across hers, as if they are old friends, as if they are not two women on opposite sides of a war.

“I love your brother,” Daenerys responds, her touch warm like a candle’s flame, just barely hot enough to cause her harm. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And when it’s all over? When you have the Iron Throne?” Sansa dares to ask, though she knows the answer. “What about the North?”

For a moment, the room goes still.

Daenerys draws back, though her hand still lingers. Her nostrils flare, a warning sign, but Sansa plunges on. “When Jon and I took back the North, we swore to protect it from those who would cause us harm. We swore not to bow to anyone. Ever.” Blue eyes hold fast to violet, a silent reminder. “What about the North?” Suddenly, the hand that rests atop hers is gone, leaving a chill against her skin yet again.

There is no time for an answer, for there comes a knock to the solar door and in strides Lord Royce, announcing the arrival of someone at the gate. Sansa rises up from where she sits a moment before Daenerys does- a slight, she knows Daenerys will take, as no one should ever rise before a reigning royal. When she follows Lord Royce out the door, she knows Daenerys is close on her heels and Sansa can’t help but to smile to herself.

The conversation is not yet over and Sansa looks forward to the next half.

[ x x x ]

Later, when he runs his hands through her hair, she smiles.

“You are happy, sweetheart?” Jon asks as he trails his fingertips along the length of her jaw, thumb swiping the plump rosy lip that curves with her delight. Theon has returned this very day, bringing with him a small army of Iron born men that will fight alongside them in the war against the dead. He knows what Theon means to her. He knows what Theon has done for her. “I have not seen you smile like this before.” Perhaps her happiness goes beyond what he thinks. “Except when…” He trails off, words bringing a giggle from her lips as he leans in to capture her mouth with his.

“I think the mother of dragons hates me.” Sansa admits when they break the kiss a few moments later, the memory of Daenerys’ expression enough to bring a grin to her face.

“And that makes you happy?” Jon asks, losing himself in the sweet smell of her hair.

“It might.”

Jon grins down at her from where he now leans over her, knowing beneath the furs she lays naked in his bed. He still wonders when they went from where they were to this. Not that he minds. He much prefers this. “Quite unbecoming of a queen, isn’t it?” He teases, to which she frowns, though her eye roll is not so serious. “Besides… It isn’t hate, my love,” he continues on, dropping down to slide into place beside her, tugging the furs over them both. When she turns her surprised blue eyes onto him, he grins again. “It is fear.” Daenerys Targaryen has never known what it is like to lose- in the end, she has always gotten what she wanted. Through power, through fear, she has established a following. Daenerys thought she would come North and claim it as her own, but she had yet to meet a woman like Sansa. “You frighten her.” The red wolf of the North, the queen that never bends, she is a force that Daenerys Targaryen has never before encountered.

It’s Sansa’s turn to smile as she slips into his arms, face nuzzled against the crook of his shoulder. “I will protect the North.” Sansa whispers into his skin, a promise of her own, a vow she will never break.

“I know.” This is why he’s given her the crown, this is why he’s sworn fealty to her and her alone. Jon knows she will always put the North first and he… Well, he will always put her first. When he kisses her, it’s long and slow, a testament to the words upon his heart, the truth within his soul. “And I’ll protect you.” She knows, she knows. She’s always known.

When she sleeps beside him, Jon takes a moment more to take in the sight of her. She’s peaceful, with a hand tucked beneath a cheek, red hair spread like a fan against her pillow. “I love you,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to her temple, smoothing back a stray stray of hair.

And then he too sleeps.


End file.
